Stephen Wolfram Rawling
Category:Citizens BIOGRAPHY EARLY LIFE: Stephen Wolfram Rawling was born on December 7th, 1940 in England to Erebus Rawling, a wealthy financier, and his wife, Deborah Rawling. Very little is known about Stephen’s parents, although his relationship with them was reportedly strained at times, especially later in life, due to differences in moral standard. Rawling claims to have nearly been killed by a “Bouncing Betty” S-mine sometime during his childhood. When questioned, the typically verbose man could not provide a satisfactory answer to various lines of inquiry regarding the incident. In 1946, the Rawling family emigrated to the United State, by boat. Lord Rawling once penned his own account of an encounter he alledgedly had with a rogue German U-Boat during this trip. A transcript of this account is provided below. “In 1946, I was on a boat, heading out across the Atlantic, destined for Ellis Island. Four days out, I grew restless. There’s only so much a lad of five years can do onboard a fragile metal canister struggling against nature to cross the great seas. Fragile. That’s not exactly how I would have described it at the beginning, right up until *that day*. The massive ship steamed along, with what seemed to be the steady confidence of a traveling continent. I had no idea how simple it would be for that vessel to simply cease existing any longer. An errant mine, a furious storm, and a whole host of other potential issues could arise at any moment. Like a war. What did a child know of war? Of fate? Of fear? Nothing at all. On that fateful night, I had my first encounter with all three, more or less. I leaned over the railing on the port side, as bored as any excitable boy could have been at that time, and noticed something... odd. In the inky water, I noticed a dark shroud. Perhaps a whale? The prospect of spotting one up close overjoyed me, as I’d never been out beyond a few feet of shore, and thus, such creatures were as myths to me. No. That was no whale. A submarine periscope poked itself up to the surface slowly, like one of the many eyes of the Leviathan that called itself the naval war machine. I could almost *feel* malevolence radiating from the hull of the metal beast, and an irrational thought struck me. At any moment, the war may start again. At any moment, Captain Kraut in his submarine could push a button... and we’d be done for. I waited there for what seemed an eternity. I counted my breaths, for no reason in particular, possibly simply to bring myself comfort. One-hundred-forty-seven. That’s how long the sub followed us. 147 breaths. I remember to this day. I wrote it on my school notebooks. I scratched it on my skin with a pencil once. I didn’t have to. It’s impossible for me to forget the dread I felt that day, nor the seemingly irrelevant number.” The validity of these statements has been called into question, as Rawling was reportedly suffering from a Panic attack caused by Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder at the time. MILITARY CAREER: Following the outbreak of large-scale war in Asia in the year 1975, Rawling resigned his position as Attorney General in order to attempt to placate the public, who had been clamoring for government officials to join in the war efforts rather than simply entering the nation into conflicts. This was apparently an unpopular move, as citizens were immediately concerned about why Rawling was the one to have made the sacrifice rather than a careerist bureaucra. Regardless, he acquired a position at the Strategic Air Command. Although many had their doubts about him, Rawling proved himself to be a surprisingly effective tactician, and was eventually transferred to the Indo-Pacific Command to oversee the Second Korean Incursion. After Rawling time and again demonstrated his competence as a strategist during the liberation of Cambodia, he was awarded with the rank of General, Five-Star, and given the coveted position of Field Marshal of the West Pacific Front. For a short time, Rawling oversaw the invasion of Ireland by United Nations forces following the revolution, and then returned to the United States in order to oversee the Gobi Campaign remotely. Rawling’s involvement in the Pacific Theater ended with the siege of Ulan Bator and the conclunion of the Sino-American war for a signifi period. It is rumored that Rawling spent a majorpity of the late 1980’s aiding multiple domestic intelligence agencies, as his illustrious career ended within a mere decade, in 1984, when he formally resigned his commission and returned to legal work. No substantial evidence exists for these claims, although the conspiracy theorists insist that this is due to Rawling’s penchant for cold-war secrecy. In 2019, Rawling accepted an offer to regain his rank, as well as directorship of the Military Intelligence and Logistics Operations Divisio, reporting directly to the Secretary of Defense. It has been said that Rawling has frequently caused problems with the cabinet due to major differences in principle with the President, although this is mere speculatio by most accounts. Rawling is presently also the commanding officer of an International Coalition deployed near the township of Lower Duck Pond, his current area of residence. LEGAL/CORPORATE CAREER: HIGHER EDUCATION IN THE FIELD OF LAW: Rawling holds multiple law degrees, namely a Juris Doctor, a Master Of Laws, and a Doctorate of Jurical Sciences. He completed his education with the last of these degrees from Yale Law school in 1969. CAREER AS AN ATTORNEY: His legal career has been a succes, as evidenced by his reputation. Rawling was involved in a series of Supreme Court battles throughout his career, many of them involving certain prominent political figures. Rawling’s first-ever major case was one where he represented himself, in front of the Supreme Court, in 1965, on charges of Miscegenation (intermarriage). Surprisingly, Rawling won the case, not to mention his freedom from a federal penitentiar, and his marriage to Dr. Nadari Severs was legalized, paving the way for the even more influential 1967 Loving v. Virginia case. In 1970, Rawling became the Attorney General of the United States, and was a controversial pick at the time due to his youth, with many considering him to be a radical figure who had acquired the position due to his newfound celebrity status. Rawling held the position for a half-decade, resigning after war broke out in Asia once again. NOTABLE INVESTMENTS: On the advice of his daughter, Rawling invested an undisclosed sum of money in the Microsoft Corporation during the early stages of its initial public offering in 1986. It is rumored that this placed his net worth in the billions, yet his financial records are classified. THE EVIL CORPORATION: Rawling once conversed with a wealthy friend about the idea that a person living in a capital society would be willing to invest heavily in any company with sufficient media coverage, regardless of the profitability of the company. This discussion grew into a heated argument, which Rawling proposed could be settled with a bet. To illustrate his point, Rawling created a dummy corporation literally titled “The Evil Corporation” and called upon certain contacts at prominent entertainment and news corportions to drum up enthusiasm for the company’s existence. The company did not produce any usable products, nor did they ever specifically claim to, although some say that the successful media campaign implied that the company had some function, while in reality it had no viable business plan at all. He made the questionable decision of registering a trademark upon the name, which led to a sudden influx of revenue from the widespread usage of the common English word, “Evil”. Combined with the artificially-produced media hype, the company proved appealing to profit-seeking investors, who practically threw money towards the start-up. As he considered the experiment to have been a success, Rawling moved to dissolve the company and liquidate what few assets it actually possessed. However, a member of the board advised him to wait for the initial public offering, and then sell the company due to the fact that he had invested very little himself, and would not suffer great losses if it was a flop. Fortunately for Rawling, the company performed well, and was easily sold off to a private interest. FAMILY: Erebus and Deborah Rawling reportedly held very different political views from their son, which put a strain on their relationship. Deborah was an avowed and vehement segregationist and would often express her support for eugenics advocates. This put her at odds with Stephen, who would go on to marry Nadari Severs, who is of South-East Asian origin. Both of Stephen’s parents expired in 1971, leaving him the sole heir of the Rawling family’s vast fortune attained through Erebus’s banking and investment group. Rawling’s brother reportedly died due to complications from contracting poliomyelitis as a child. Rawling himself also claimed to have had the disease as a boy. He would eventually share a mildly chilling account of an incident that occurred during this period, and a transcript of the account has been provided. “Have you ever watched a person die? It’s not a pretty sight. Would you like to hear about my first time seeing a man die? Oh, I’m sure you think you do. You’re sitting there on your cellular phone, or your laptop, or your bloody smart fridge, for all I know, but for all practical purposes safe, and sound. Even if you’re in the cold, wet outdoors, you’re safe and sound. I was not so lucky, one day in the rain. Have you ever wondered why I walk so slowly, why I use a gilded cane? I assure you, it’s not entirely for show. I contracted poliomyelitis as a child, shortly after getting off of the boat. I was already an outsider in a shitty little town, and now I was a crippled outsider. Perhaps you might understand my predicament now, a weakling with a name like “Stephen Wolfram” in a hellhole chock-full of brain-dead fuckers like your ilk is an incident just waiting to happen. So, one day, I mind my own business as always, walk-hobble, really- down the road to the schoolyard, when I am accosted by some ruffian, about your age. Funny, that boy... he’d be almost ninety by now. Funny. Hilarious. Now, this lad decides he’ll have a bit of fun with the cripple, and begins to spout the usual vitriol. How many times do you think a man can take being called “Wolf-boy,” or “Rawlings,” or, oh, the irony, “Steve”? The limit is higher than you might expect, and lower than that lunk would. They made walking-crutches extremely sturdy back in the day, all metal and hardwood, not at all like the hollow ones they give you today. I’d hate to have one cracked over my head. I left him lying alone out there in the cold December weather. Didn’t show up to school that day, he was out for the next month. He’s contracted poliomyelitis. Rather ironic, no? Certainly fitting of him, however, and it was so much worse for him, I almost felt pity. His symptoms included full-body paralysis. Have you ever seen a man choke on his own phlegm? Not the most pleasant way to go.” No medical records were produced to corroborate the story of the dead schoolchild, and Rawling appears to possess normal, or even above-average motor function for a man of his age. No court records have ever surfaced showing that Rawling was ever tried for manslaughter or murder due to this particular incident. Dr. Nadari Severs is currently the head of a particularly large private hospital and research institution close to the Rawling Estate. She also serves as a district health inspector for the county, although her role in the public health department is typically limited to consultations due to her primary responsibilities as a surgeon. Rawling and Severs have three children, one of whom, Evan Rawling, visited the town of Lower Duck Pond prior to his death due to de novo Huntington’s disease. According to Stephen, Evan was a particularly bright child, and appeared to be well on track to follow in the footsteps of his successful parents and siblings. However, while he was completing his Ph.D. in economics, disaster struck in the form of a horrific automobile accident. Evan’s wife and daughter were killed, and he was left with post-traumatic stress. Rawling’s daughter would go on to become a serial entrepreneur and investor. She apparently currently lives in Seattle. Little is known of Rawling’s other son, aside from the fact that he is an academic of some reputation. At one point in time, a mysterious figure calling herself “Lilith the assassin,” appeared in the town of Lower Duck Pond, and claimed to be Rawling’s grown illegitimate child. Rawling denies this claim, calling it, “an unfounded, baseless rumor intended to sow disr in the city, and an assault upon the character of a legitimate citizen.” MAYORAL CAMPAIGN: On the fourth of November, 2019 C.E., Stephen Rawling announced that he would be running for mayor of Lower Duck Pond. A transcript of his campaign announcement has been provided below: “I’d like to nominate the single most respectable member of our lovely local community for the office of mayor. Myself, of course. Who did you believe I was referring to? Nevermind, that’s utterly irrelevant at the moment. It is time, fellow citizens, that we reclaimed this town. Corruption rots the local government like a degenerative disease, *as we speak*. The so-called “moderators”, oh, my apologies, the “town council” have *incessantly* allowed the office of the mayor to be occupied by a literal *animal*! Any fool could see what that is, given that the average moose cannot even decide whether it would rather defecate or copulate at any given moment! This is a blatant attempt to seize power from the people and remain in control of our fair city for all time! Are we going to stand for this... this... *sheer lunacy*? Well... the rest of you might. I shall not have the wool pulled over my eyes like the rest of you, and I shall not rest idly by as this continues. It is time, fellow citizens to *wake up*. To *see reality*, regardless of how harsh of a mistress it may be. It is time we looked beyond the narrow streets we inhabit. It is time we looked beyond the safety of our own borders, and threw off the yoke of the selfish whims of our tyrannical overlords! It is time that we gazed out to the future, that we rejoined the twenty-first century, and furthered the progress of mankind’s march towards true greatness! We *will* repair the debilitated, failing communications infrastructure in our city. We *will* repair the highway our of the county in order to facilitate easier travel for all citizens. We *will* improve the *abysmal* education standards created by the infernal school board, and repair the *dilapidated*, crumbling school buildings. We *will* initiate a crackdown on the *unsanctioned* criminal underworld, and *eliminate* the scourge of our streets that plague innocent civilians to no end, and *finally* liberate the southern side that has become a *war zone*. A vote for me, dear friend, is a vote for yourself. A vote for all of us. A vote for our beautiful future. And I give you my word, as a citizen, as a friend, as a man who has spent *his entire life* imposing the will of others, that it is *our turn* to impose our will. I, to the very best of my ability, *will* fix this town. I will fix our homeland, or I will die trying. To this I swear, M. General Stephen W. Rawling, Director: Military Intelligence and Logistics Operations Division, Attorney.” Multiple citizens of Lower Duck Pond were placed on a Federal watchlist on Rawling’s orders following the revelation that they had actually voted in favor of allowing him to create a Totalitarian state, an unfathomable idea to him. In 1990, Rawling was elected Mayor of the City of New York. It’s unclear as to how or why this occurred, given that he wasn’t on the ballot. Rawling himself expressed a great deal of surprise at the news, hanging up the telephone when he was informed of his new office, believing it to have been a practical joke. Regardless, Rawling grew to become one of the city’s most popular leaders in recent history, in spite of the fact that he lived in San Francisco, California for the entire duration of his term as mayor, never once setting foot within the state of New York, let alone the city. IMAGES: . . . . . PERSONALITY: u/ConglomeratePotato commented that, "I apologize if you are, in fact, referring to Stephen Rawling. He was created with the intention to make him seem like a jerk, and I hope that nobody’s taken anything personally... I try to make him a little different than a standard asshole (see: Haha you so dumb, hahah I fucked your mom, haha let me just rob a bank and shit), just kind of a pompous, self-absorbed, cynical guy who doesn’t understand people have varying circumstances contributing to their decision-making. To Rawling, every decision made by another person is a stupid one, mostly because he didn’t make it himself to fit his own needs... I have no idea how to write a realistic old character: I don’t know how to have him be subtly racist, I don’t know how to have him be technologically-inept, I don’t know how to summarize real events from his point of view. As a result, I’ve made him a bit progressive, not by my standards, but enough, highly-educated and competent with the usage of technology, and basically put him in an alternate reality so I could make up some “historical” events." DEPRESSION AND POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER: Rawling, at one point, was feeling as if he was unworthy of continuing to exist. He penned multiple accounts of his struggles, transcribed here in chronological order: Part 1: “What’s the point? Of what, you ask? I don’t know... anything. Why do I do this to myself? Allow myself to get worked up over nothing? Why do people always hope for *somewhere else*, somewhere *better*, instead of repairing what they have? It’s almost comedic, watching people pray for salvation. There’s no hope for me, my sins... they cannot be absolved. I am beyond the event horizon. The point of no return. If there’s somewhere better, I have no chance of reaching it. It’s almost as if I was fated to be here. I just wanted... to equalize things. Is that so wrong? Can you find fault in an idealistic young man who wished for nothing more than a chance to do as he pleased, *with whomever* he wanted to? I didn’t *want* to be thrown out into the greater horrid world of politics, of strategy, of society. I would’ve been content to be the forgettable, unremarkable son of some forgotten millionaire. In my pursuit of that goal for my life, I found myself running the opposite way. I walked into that little circuit court to try and see if I could settle down, have a normal family, not be a criminal because I’d gone and fraternized with the inferior race, as those swines put it. I left the Supreme Court a year later as a famous man, with my name on all the front-pages, all of the radio broadcasts. Oh, I should’ve turned down the Devil’s bargain. Should’ve spat in the face of that filthy bureaucrat rather than shaken his hand, should’ve gone home with my new bride and lived an unremarkable, forgettable life, and yet I was a fool, I had a taste of fame, and I desired more. And with the fame comes power. And when you have responsibilities, when you have lives resting on your hands, it’s *so difficult* to step back, to become less involved, steer clear of the cesspool, keep your name out of scandals. The power turned me into a greedy shell of a man with nothing to look forward to or back upon. Then the war came, and all hell broke loose. The bill came due, and the cynicism swooped in. I sent young men off to die in my stead, and for what? The land was ceded, the resources returned, and nothing to show for the casualties. I gave up, put a gun to my head. Of course, they couldn’t let me die. I think I’m still living out a delusion. This vision of a utopia that has taken its hold upon me is a plague, a pestilence, and yet there is no way to stop it, to freeze it in its tracks. We are destined for a horrific technocracy, devoid of aesthetic pleasure, of charm, of *soul*. It’s the inevitable fate of the world that I have constructed, so meticulously designed by such foolish architects as myself. It’s horrific, and yet so enticing. Every fiber of my being informs me that this is correct, that this world is more *efficient* than our own, that if we must give up individualism for reason, for the triumph of logic over irrational behavior, we will do so, and yet I detest it. I cannot fathom living in that world. Nor can I imagine enjoying life in this one, knowing how catastrophic our future shall be, not some apocalyptic wasteland but a soulless hell of my own design. To all of you who might live to see this hell-on-earth, I apologize for my creation. Do you think the creator of our universe remains in its domain out of fear, out of shame? I know that I do. I cannot bear it any longer. This is the end. Before I go, I make one final plea to you all. Why? Why should I continue my fruitless existence, avoid going through with the action that I am considering? Why should I not take my chances with the cold abyss or fiery hell or lovely paradise? None of those could compare with the utopia that awaits, and yet it baffles me that *that* abomination borne of my mind could be any sort of perfection. Please, I beg of you. I need a reason. I need advice, for once, ironically, in these troubled times. If you cannot help, well... then this is goodbye, my friend. Or foe. It does not matter now.” Rawling’s struggles with his own mortality continued shortly, in his interactions with townsfolk: “Charm. Music. Heart. When I was a boy, I detested those notions, I thought they were meaningless tidbits meant to fuel the imaginations of worthless little artists, or well... advertisers. I wanted to see rationality, to see purpose in everything, and every time I looked at a painting or listened to a symphony and heard somebody's analysis of it, I'd laugh, and nobody would understand why. I... don't know, it always felt like a stretch to me, you know? A streak of pigment, or a certain vibration is supposed to convey something to me? Evoke some primal reaction? I scoffed at the thought and went about my day. And so, when it came to the project, that dreadful day well over forty years ago, I never stopped to notice the warnings all around me. I never stopped thinking about whether I could to consider whether I should.” -Stephen Rawling to Louis Polak “It’s far, far too late. It’s been too late since the day we started chipping at rocks. There is no going back, there is no way to regress. And guess what? Progress requires sacrifice, requires something to be burned away to make an improvement. Now, I ask you sincerely, what do you think will be destroyed first? What icon of our days will be first to go? Any bets?” -Stephen Rawling to Moon Blossom Engel “''Rich or poor or famous'' For your truth it's all the same For who grew up tall and proud In the shadow of the Mushroom Cloud Love. Such an... inherently strange concept. What time do we have for love? We’re all hurtling towards extinction at a breakneck pace. And what are we to love in this universe? The cold, dark abyss beyond our comprehension?” -Stephen Rawling to Sam Sadler, the first of his infamous music references. ““''Forward,” he cried'' And the front rank died Generals sat And the lines on the map Moved from side to side What’s the point? Borders shift, people change. What makes a nation? A language? A border? A flag, a symbol?” -Stephen Rawling to Chrestine Jansen Part 2: Rawling’s will “You know what’s funny? I’ve written so many wills over the years... and yet I’ve never written my own. *A man in black on a snow white horse* *A pointless life has run its course* *The red rimmed eyes, the tears still run* *As he fades into the setting sun* Well, I suppose it’s time. This... feels like closure, to a minor extent. I’d like to apologize to every one of you. There’s not much more to be said. I tried. It isn’t as if that means much. I’ll accept it, I’m an old man, I’ve done a lot in my time. For better or worse, I built this planet. Yet that is no excuse. I’ve been lashing out, I’ve threatened some of you, and I cannot give you anything but my apologies for my behavior. Actually, scratch that last statement. On to my will. I’d like to address some of you all personally, if you do not mind. Note that a great majority of my assets are, of course, reserved for members of my family, and most of the items that are now to be left to you are out of the share of the late Mr. Evan Rawling, worth one-point-two-seven billion USD following liquidations. To Chrestine Jansen, I leave this letter advocating for officiation of the sovereignty of your new nation, along with all necessary paperwork and funds for the aforementioned. Our world was built on the backs of citizens who had the nerve to declare that they could not, in good conscience, support a corrupt system any longer, and would be willing to sacrifice everything for the chance to throw off the yoke of their oppressors. Though I cannot guarantee you results, I wish you the best of luck and good fortune in your endeavors of liberation. To Jeremy Whinger, well... hang on. I’d like to preface this by thanking you for your efforts to elevate yourself beyond the life of strife you once lead. You once informed me that you dreamed of becoming a physiotherapist. I leave you a letter of recommendation written graciously by Dr. Severs, who would like to interject that she thanks you for your recent contributions to furthering the state of human scientific knowledge, as well as a sum of four-hundred-thousand dollars, hopefully enough to cover tuition, rent, and other trifling expenses for a four-year program. Remember what I once advised you, lad, let *nothing* stand in your way, not your mother, not your ex, *nothing*. I hope you can look past the ruthless nature of the origin of that remark to see the truth, that you’re a resourceful man held back at every opportunity, and you somehow take it in stride. To Fred Forgive-me-I-cannot-recall-your-surname, I leave an automobile of your choice from my collection, in the hopes that you will one day be able to make full use of it. The world can be a horrific, dangerous place, and I too would love to remain safely locked away, protected from the unknown, and yet it can also be a beautiful, alluring land. I don’t know whether you’ll ever be able to overcome your darkest thoughts, whether you’ll ever be able to wander freely, but if you do I doubt I’ll live to see that day. To Fate Rose, I leave the old Duck County Clothing factory, as well as a grant for the basic procedures that come with operation of a business. You have a gift, a talent professed by few in this land, and I’m sure we’d all love to see it brought to the world. Don’t ever let yourself feel like a burden, no matter what ailments torment you. There’s a whole life ahead of you for you to make a mark on the world with. To... ah, hell, hang... hang on. Argghh... Urgh, give me a moment, I... I am not feeling... oh, oh. Oh... Sorry, sorry, I beg your pardon, I’m using a speech-transcribing software, my fingers... I’m not quite as dexterous as I was such a short, short time ago. Where was I, now? Ah, yes. To Jimothy McGuffin, I leave a library’s worth of not-yet-declassified government documents, a little record of the last fifty years in the history you’ve never seen before. It takes a certain kind of mind to question everything he is taught, to refuse solemnly to blindly follow, to let an authoritarian figure lead him into darkness for want of a bit of knowledge. Men like you keep governments in line, keep fanatics and dogmatists from having their say. I always reserve praise for the skeptic, for he is the only true rational mind. To Penelope Pym, I leave a one-way first-class aeroplane ticket to Los Angeles, redeemable at any time. You’re clearly still on the search for *some* sort of purpose; I sincerely doubt that you’ll find it here, forgive my blunt honesty, and you seem to have unfinished business in California. To Sam Sadler, I... am unsure what to bequeath. The one man in town who has demonstrated a practically infinite capacity for level-headed, clear, and rational discourse has given an enormous amount to the community that we now share, and has requested absolutely *nothing* in return that I could possibly grant him. You seem like the type to appreciate the finer things in life, perhaps a bottle of alcohol, though I doubt I have much of that about... How about an automobile? A pen? A wrist-watch? Inform me if there is anything in particular... I’m determined to reach as many people as possible, don’t even attempt to graciously and tactfully decline. To Nora Fineberg, I leave a large collection of automatic weaponry. God help you all. Shame I won’t be around to enjoy any of the ensuing chaos. In addition, I do have a large collection of old comic books, carefully preserved when I was a boy, still in mint condition. Superhero tales, Westerns, Funny-pages, Noir-aesthetic detective stories, I devoured it all back in the day. It probably shouldn’t surprise any of you that Stephen Rawling was a huge fucking nerd back in the day, pardon my language in this semi-not-really legally-binding document. To Ashley Wheeler, I bequeath a section of the Rawling private library. The written word is a characteristic of almost every single major civilization in history, at least every well-documented one... okay, that puts a hole in my speech right there, ignore that, we’re going to ignore my logical fallacy, okay? Good. Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by.... myself... language has elevated us as a species from the realm of mere beasts into a land of reason, of comprehension of our circumstances, and provided us with the means to enforce our collective will and shape our world into a more beneficial, more hospitable place. The written word, for all of its flaws, has been a source of respite and a pastime for me since I was a boy, and has served as a means of passing on knowledge on a previously unimaginable scale since the dawn of the earliest roots of our society. I hope that you too can appreciate what lies in your hands as you peruse what has been provided. To... hold on, hold on, I’m unsure if I... I, I’m al... no. No, I don’t believe... I cannot complete this, I’m so sorry, there are so many of you who I’d like to thank, who I’d like to help one last time. I’m sorry, one last time, for the life I have lead, for the decisions I’ve made. If I haven’t outlined anything in particular for you yet, please inform me if there is anything in my possession which you would like following my... forget that, in case of any unfortunate circumstances. If any of you would like to propose changes to what you have been bequeathed, please do notify me.” Part 3: Stop taking my garbage! “Everyone, I’m ashamed on your behalf. The fact that I am being kind enough to consider you all in my will does not entitle you to pilfer my possessions. Return each of these listed items at once, or there will be serious repercussions. Now, I’m sure some of you will attribute this to misplace meant rather than malice, which is utterly suspicious given that each one of these items mysteriously vanished in the interval between the creation of my draft will outline and the creation of this post. First off, my pen(https://imgur.com/a/7xuS34c). Parker model IM fountain pen, special edition, currently filled with blue ink. Sure, some of you pen snobs will immediately begin criticizing me, don’t even deny the thoughts you have in mind. And guess what? I don’t care about your opinion, it’s eye-catching, absolutely gorgeous in my opinion, functional, and set me back a hundred bucks. Yeah, yeah, pocket change. I still want it back. Next item... a pair of Bausch and Lomb pilot’s sunglasses, built in 1936. I’ve had these(https://imgur.com/a/vOm0SkE) since I was a child, everyone, and yet there’s not a scratch on them, I’d like to keep it that way. My wife’s glasses. If you haven’t seen Dr. Severs in a monocle yet, now is likely your only chance in a lifetime. Careful, though, she only needs one good eye to put a bullet through your spinal column. I may or may not be speaking from experience. If you’d rather not be shot by an octogenarian, I’d return that pair of horn-rimmed spectacles, you thieving swine. Okay, then, oh... this one’s a trifle more... expensive. I’m missing a bell 525 from my aircraft collection. That is a investment.(https://imgur.com/a/CLppE7L). Jet-black and, uh... how many other prototype helicopters do you see around here, eh? You’ll notice it. Oh, huh, one of my automobiles is out there... should probably check if my headlights are still on. And... that’s gone too. If you see a white BMW i8... you know where to find me. At least it isn’t my seven-million-dollar rolls. My... cat? Somebody stole *my cat*? Come on, everyone, that was my son’s cat, his only permanent companion(https://imgur.com/a/VQn5496), the only other survivor of the accident that killed his family! The name’s George, not that it matters, the little shit won’t respond when you call out its name, and it’s an orange tabby. You know what, I’m done, fuck this guy. No really, fuck you. I’m done with the civilized speech. What kind of asshat steals somebody’s *cat*? I have more helicopters, you know, and these are armed, not like the stolen one. I’ll find you, pal, no way off this forsaken rock aside from that helicopter, and there’s nowhere near enough fuel to reach any other airfields. Roads out of town are all blocked, don’t think about using my car.” Part 4: Literally too angry to die “Happy bloody new year to me. Hmmph. Of all the days... *''Don’t let me stay, don’t let me stay*'' *My logic says “burn,” so send me away.* *Your minds are too green, I despise all I’ve seen.* *You can’t stake your lives on a Saviour Machine.* Another ruddy year. I’ve lived through seventy-nine of them now, and I’m sure that many of you who know me would agree that that is seventy-nine too many. Day in, day out, I sit here and meddle with the future, and it’s a thankless, thankless job. No return for my efforts. I *built* this world you forsaken souls live in, and what do I get in return? Incessant criticism, and all of the *doubting*. I’m expected to swoop in, deus ex machina, solve all of your damn problems, and walk away with no emotions. That’s alright. I’m rather good at feeling nothing. Really, all of your petty squabbles... they’re so... inconsequential. Don’t you see? Don’t *any* of you *see*? Just... think! *Think*, for once in your miserable lives! Consider... the sheer futility of it all. If I was so inclined, I could twitch my little finger and have this town wiped off of the map. No more records of its existence, no memory of your worthless carcasses. Were I in your precarious position, which, thankfully, I am not, I would accord the man before you with infinite respect. Yet do I receive this respect? Absolutely not! And guess what? The bill comes due. You may all lie in the cesspool that you have created, with no intervention from me, nor any of my assets. Anarchy will reign. You think your pathetic law enforcement units can hold back the inevitable ensuing anarchy? Half of them drunkards, the rest corrupt. No federal forces will be deployed to keep crime in check, none of my money will flow into your shops, your businesses, your restaurants. The Severs-Patella medical research institute will be closed. I am the one man holding this town together. Your great leaders in the town square will be consumed by their own gluttony, their own greed, their own malice, or in the case of dear Jim, their own incompetence. None of you will be receiving the items that you were bequeathed in the outline of my will. The old clothing factory is being demolished. The letter to the UN is being burned. The letter of recommendation for a certain student is currently being torn apart by my cat. The contents of the Rawling private library will not be shared. Oh, and that’s barely the beginning. It’s quite a shame, really, that none of the rest of you will know what you have forfeited. Note that your co-conspirators have already been apprehended. Dear George the cat is safe. My aircraft was forced down with no structural damage. My pen and sunglasses have been recovered. My car was stopped at the road closure. You ask me to show you compassion, to show mercy. Have I not shown you infinite compassion by allowing you to *breathe* within fifteen kilometers of my location? I reached out a hand in friendship, I put on a cheery facade to foster mutual happiness, and you made a collective choice to *spit* on that hand. A cheery facade. Do you know how much I *detest* putting on an invisible mask, hiding my opinions of all of your degeneracy that will be your undoing? Oh, I must thank you for the opportunity, here. I must thank you for allowing me to shed this diplomatic veil, this... unsustainable carapace. This is where the gloves come off. I showed you generosity, and you mistook it for weakness. Now, I shall demonstrate strength, and you may misconstrue it as *brutality*. The worst is yet to come, for all of you. Know, poor foolish souls, that there is nowhere to run, now that you have incurred my wrath. There is no barren soil, no desolate wasteland, no isolated island, no *crevice* where I cannot find you. Good day to you all. Make your preparations, or do not bother. I can assure you that they will be futile. Repent, all of you, yet do not seek absolution. The devil has been known to forgive. You will find no salvation from me.” Part 5: What has it all amounted to? “How... how did I wind up here? *''All I see turns to brown*'' *As the sun burns the ground* *And my eyes fill with sand* *As I scan this wasted land* I’ve... just about run out of things that irritate me. You know what? Far too many things annoy me. I’ve come to expect perfection from... well, just about everything. All my life, anything less than perfection was... unsatisfactory. Didn’t help that soon enough I’d be handling people’s lives. How’d I dig myself into this hole? Every time I tried to make a change myself, to just let the world be as it is, I have to go and mess with it. Would you like to know what I’ve always feared? Go on, take a guess. No, it’s not global thermonuclear warfare, or winged Goliath spiders, or dizzying heights. I’ve always been terrified of being forgotten. Do any of you know anything about Millard Fillmore? No, I don’t either. Never considered it particularly important. He isn’t important, from a cosmic viewpoint. What’s another president to Proxima Centauri? President Fillmore died a hundred-and-forty-seven years ago. Less than two average-lifespans, and forgotten. There it is. My only dread, being relegated to nothing more than a name in a forgotten volume of text, confined to an archive nobody has the motivation to browse. Ever since I was a boy, I tried to make a mark on society, to ensure that people would remember me. Now... do I even *care* anymore? We’ll all be forgotten sometime. Empires have risen, cities have burnt, blood has been spilt and we will never know anything about them, anything about the people who shaped history, no matter how important they may have been. Do you ever just... have a long look at the things that concern you and just *laugh*, at how... petty your problems are? I once conquered nations and now I worry about small rodents in the garbage. It’s... pathetic. I sit here with just as much work as ever, and no intention of finishing it. There’s nothing at stake here, nothing *tangible* to show as the fruits of my labors. I know it’s essential, the world cannot function without it. And yet... I sometimes wonder whether I’ve had any impact at all. Whether I’m as much of a wasted soul as the poor blighter shivering with his little hat and a sign. The sign is the most depressing part. “I tried.” So did I, son, so did I, and soon enough we’ll both be piles of ash. What difference did it make? *''Walking side by side with death*'' *The devil mocks their every step*” “Bah. You live in the past, and you tell me to think of the present. What could you, of all men, understand of my motivations? Can’t you see the... the sheer drudgery of one’s daily affairs? So much less... excitement, so much less self-respect.” -Stephen Rawling to Saul Bloomberg Part 6: Perhaps it does matter... “Do you ever feel as if we’re living in exactly the wrong timeline? You’ve all heard of the thought experiment where for every possible outcome of any given interaction on any scale, there is an alternate timeline created, yes? Well... I’ve been mulling it over, of late, and I’m beginning to wonder, could there be a world in which every action had a favorable outcome, and on in which every action had a negative outcome? Perhaps this is where the idea of heaven and hell originates. I’m now thoroughly convinced that if there is a hell, we are *living in it*. I mean, look at me. I’m practically a testament to all that is wrong with the Earth at this moment, and yet I persist in existence. The world’s had *so many* opportunities to kill me off. I could’ve died on the boat across the Atlantic when I sighted that U-Boat. Could’ve died five years later when I caught poliomyelitis. Could’ve let the heart attack I had when I first discovered that I was allergic to ethanol kill me. Could’ve died of lung cancer. Could’ve died after that airstrike back in Ulan Bator. I could’ve rotted in prison for the rest of my life. I could’ve rotted in prison *for the rest of my life*. That’s the scariest one of all, for what sort of a crime is it to love? I’ve loved but once in my life, and I was imprisoned for it. If I hadn’t been a lawyer, if I’d gone off and done something else with my life... I’d still be there. Hell. *That*, my friends, or, well... acquaintances. Perhaps not even that. Doesn’t matter. That, everyone, is hell. It’s all over for me. Perhaps if it wasn’t for me... we’d be successful, as a society. Wouldn’tve charged off into Ireland, into Cambodia, into Mongolia, into Niger. Wouldn’tve elected a strongman like Rossier, and tried to counterbalance him with that weak-willed idiot, Richard Vergere right afterward. Perhaps. There’s no use for retrograde speculation. Just... think on what I’ve said. Perhaps, in the grand scale of things, there’s a reason for your choices. Perhaps they do matter. Perhaps a single molecular movement will dig us out of this hole.”